


Jaskier Did The Blacksmiths Guild

by Jadelyn



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Apologies, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, jaskier fucks the blacksmith(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28616640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadelyn/pseuds/Jadelyn
Summary: After the mountain, Geralt suddenly finds himself being charged exorbitant prices by every blacksmith he tries to go to, and he can't figure out why.  The only thing that's changed is Jaskier's absence, so what the hell did Jaskier do to the Blacksmiths Guild to turn them against him like this?Turns out it's not so much what he did, as what he's no longer doing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 394





	Jaskier Did The Blacksmiths Guild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yolkipalki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolkipalki/gifts).



> Inspired by Lemon, who noticed that Jaskier winds up fucking a blacksmith in a not-insignificant portion of fics in this fandom, and proposed this delightfully cracky side-effect of the mountain breakup as a result.

"Two hundred crowns? It's a tiny nick! Barely an hour's work in it for you. Are you planning on buying a solid diamond grindstone to do it with or something?"

* * *

"A thousand orens? I'm asking you to re-silver it, not reforge it."

* * *

"I need horseshoes, not a full set of plate armor. Were you planning to shoe her with dimeritium and dragon scales? Can't think why else a set of horseshoes would cost 60 bezants."

* * *

The slam of two leather-clad fists onto the table next to Jaskier's songbook might have startled him, had he been less accustomed to such things due to his erstwhile traveling companion's oft-uncertain temper. As it was, he merely looked up - and _then_ startled, thinking for a brief instant that perhaps his thoughts of said companion had somehow summoned him.

"What -" the witcher snarled, dropping heavily onto the bench across from the bard, "- the fuck -" he continued, snatching up Jaskier's tankard of ale, "- did you do -" he paused briefly to drain the cup of its contents, "- to the Blacksmiths Guild?" Geralt thumped the now-empty tankard down on the board, eyes burning.

Jaskier choked back on the urge to laugh hysterically. This? This was what finally drove the obstreperous old bastard to come find him again? The look on Geralt’s face almost made the whole thing worth it, though.

"Hello, Geralt," he said brightly, then dropped his voice into a deliberately terrible impression of Geralt's deep rumble. "Hello Jaskier, you're looking well. Is that a new doublet? I like the hat." He shifted back to his own voice. "Yes, it's the latest fashion, my dear. I'm so glad to see you've come to your senses and came to find me and grovel for my forgiveness after the awful things you said." Back to the gravelly baritone. "Yes, Jaskier, I was a colossal arse to you, it was entirely undeserved and the truth is that you've never done a single thing wrong in your entire life. If -"

"Enough," Geralt broke in, but his lips were twitching with the effort not to smile. "The hat is hideous. And you've done more wrong in your life than most people could ever manage in a dozen lifetimes - but," he faltered a little, looking away, before squaring his shoulders and deliberately meeting Jaskier's eyes, "you've done even more right. And none of…none of the wrong you've done had anything to do with what I said that day. I was wrong; I should not have said those things. I'm - I'm sorry."

Jaskier blinked. "Did…did you practice that speech?"

"What?"

"Well it's just, I'm not sure I've ever heard you string together that many words all in one go before. So I wondered if you'd had to practice it first." He'd been joking, but as he watched Geralt's powerful shoulders hunch slightly and the awkward, almost twitch-like way he turned his face away to hide his expression, Jaskier wondered if he'd hit closer to the mark than he'd expected. "Oh, Geralt," he said, voice softening. "Really?"

"No," he replied stiffly, still not meeting Jaskier's gaze. Then, when Jaskier let the silence drag on a few seconds too long, Geralt sighed and looked at him. "I didn't - I didn't practice that one. I practiced a different one."

The warm glow of that admission spread through Jaskier's chest, thawing away the ice of the last time they'd spoken, and he found himself smiling. "I'd like to hear it, later," he said, "but consider yourself forgiven, my dear witcher. What happened that day was as much my fault as it was yours - I should have known trying to pet a wolf with its paw caught in a trap wasn't going to end well for anyone involved."

Geralt looked away again. “You forgive too easily, Jaskier. You shouldn’t be so careless of your pride.”

“Did you _want_ me to stay mad at you?” Jaskier’s lips quirked a little, and he reached out and placed a hand over Geralt’s on the table between them. “I can try, if you like, but if truth be told it’s not the first time you’ve been a prick to me, and I’ve never been very good at staying mad at you when you’ve treated me like shit before. I don’t see why this time would be any different.”

And for the first time in twenty-some years, instead of pulling his hand away, Geralt turned his palm-up underneath Jaskier’s and curled his fingers around it in a warm, gentle grip. He didn’t speak, but then, it had been an age since Jaskier had actually needed words to understand his witcher’s meanings.

In a bid to stop himself from bursting into tears and pull them back into more ordinary territory, Jaskier cleared his throat and said briskly, “So! What were you yelling about, when you came in here?”

Geralt blinked. “Oh. Right. Jaskier, what the fuck did you do to the Blacksmiths Guild? Since we parted I’ve been charged double and triple the usual costs, prices the like of which I haven't seen in twenty or…thirty...years...oh."

Jaskier snorted. “Well, a bit crudely phrased, but you've essentially answered your own question."

"What?"

"You wanted to know what I did to the Blacksmiths Guild. That's it. That's your answer." He was fighting back a broad grin that would surely irritate his companion beyond bearing, but it was a losing battle.

"You… _did_ the blacksmiths guild." Geralt sounded half confused and half incredulous as Jaskier’s meaning began to crystallize in his mind.

“Well,” Jaskier said primly, “I mean, not all of them, obviously. But a not insignificant number. And I was not above using that to our advantage to get you deals and better prices."

"You fucked the blacksmiths of a dozen cities and towns just to get me a better price when I needed work done?"

“Goodness, we think highly of ourselves, don’t we?” Jaskier laughed. “No, I fucked the blacksmiths of a dozen cities and towns because I wanted to, and then realized I could also use that to help you out a bit. I'd have fucked them anyway, though.” Geralt’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out, so Jaskier continued. “What can I say? I have a type.” He let his eyes openly roam over the witcher’s figure. “You know, big, broad-shouldered, incredible forearms, could pick me up one-handed and snap me in half with his thighs. Not many who can fit that description. And as it happens, a startlingly large number of those who can turn out to be blacksmiths.” In for a penny, in for a pound, Jaskier thought, and let his smile heat up a few degrees. “Or witchers.”

Geralt made a faint, slightly strangled sound. Before Jaskier could ask about that he found himself being hauled away from the table and dragged up the stairs, hand still clasped in Geralt’s. They slammed through the first unlocked door they found - empty, thankfully, though not unoccupied based on the belongings scattered about the place. Ah, well, Jaskier thought hazily, they could worry about that later - and crashed onto the bed together, all hands and mouths and grinding hips.

“You know,” Geralt panted against Jaskier’s lips, “if you want me to break you in half with my thighs, you’ll have to be between them.”

Jaskier half-groaned and half-laughed. “That is the furthest thing from a problem, love,” he said. “Unless you have some objection?”

Geralt grinned, showing all his teeth, and hauled Jaskier over to lie on top of him. “No objection at all.”

* * *

“So,” Geralt said, tracing aimless patterns on Jaskier’s skin. “Does this mean I should get used to paying full price for blacksmith work again?”

The question was phrased flippantly, but Jaskier heard the vulnerability beneath it. He raised his head and met Geralt’s eyes, molten gold by candlelight.

“That depends on you, my love,” he said lightly. “I’m definitely not averse to continuing my previous habits, but I didn’t know if you’d…” he trailed off, unsure how to say it.

Geralt shrugged. “Fuck who you like, I don’t mind that. As long as…as long as you come back to me in the morning.”

Jaskier gave him a brilliant smile. “Of course, darling.” He leaned in and kissed his witcher. “I always have. I always will.”


End file.
